


To Home Afar

by DaemosBlack, Merytsetesh



Series: The Formerly Untitled Lady!Thorin Bagginshield Hobbit AU [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Female Fíli, Female Thorin, Fix-It, Gender or Sex Swap, Rule 63, cis swap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-04 08:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaemosBlack/pseuds/DaemosBlack, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merytsetesh/pseuds/Merytsetesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Thorin Oakenshield was born female? On a quest to slay a dragon, Bilbo Baggins learns about ladies with beards and accidentally fixes everything. A scene-by-scene retelling of The Hobbit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Lady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back in March DaemosBlack and Merytsetesh decided to collaborate on a Rule 63 always-a-girl fic for _The Hobbit._ We'd both read several fics that made Bilbo female, but we wanted to do something different: we made Thorin the girl. The result has been a lot of Tolkien research and headcanon for dwarven physiology, gender roles, and their concept of beauty. Just to be clear, we are writing Thorin as cisgendered and heterosexual (though not every character will be necessarily.)
> 
> Initially it was going to be a rewrite of the entire book, word for word, that would start out with only a few divergent lines in the beginning and end completely different due to the butterfly effect. However we didn't want to type up the entire book and we weren't able to find a text file of _The Hobbit_ to copy and paste from. Instead, only the lines leading directly to an altered scene are included at the beginning of each scene. 
> 
> Events happen as they do in the book. That means the company is never chased by Wargs to Rivendell, the Eagles take them to their Eerie instead of directly to the Carrock, etc. Scenes not described in detail in the book (such as the weeks spent in Rivendell) were fleshed out using source material from the films. A small number of things that were not written by Tolkien but would fit with book canon were also added, such as Bilbo's days as a Bounder. 
> 
> That is not to say that such Canon-probable ideas are necessarily going to stick to the standard characterization of the characters on every occasion. In many cases we have played with the original personas as portrayed to deliver on the shift in interactions that the changes in the identity of Thorin would bring forth. In many places our choices are subtle, or at the very least we have attempted to make them so. Overall our goal was the keep the tale believable, both to those who adore the canon, and to our own alternate world's ideas.

  
“ _The hobbit had to find room for all of them, and filled all his spare-rooms and made beds on chairs and sofas...”_  

— _The Hobbit_ , Chapter 1. An Unexpected Party

 

It was while doing this that he made a most bewildering discovery. One of the younger dwarves, Fili, was most insistent that he be given his own room. Now Bag End was a large hobbit-hole, the grandest this side of The Hill, but it was not quite so lavish to afford every dwarf their own room! Though when Bilbo said so Fili said that only he and Thorin would need such accommodations, and to Bilbo's surprise the other dwarves all agreed. 

“It's only proper.” Fili said, and the others nodded as if that explained everything when it explained nothing at all. But since they were guests, unexpected or not, he simply showed Fili to his second best guest room, Thorin having already taken the best one. 

“This will do nicely,” said Kili, who had followed them in. 

“For me, but not for you. You can sleep with the rest of the rabble.” 

“But we've always shared a room!” 

“That was different, we were children. You're too old to still be sleeping in the same room as your big sister.” 

“Sister?!” Bilbo sputtered and nearly dropped his armful of blankets while the dwarves looked at him in confusion. 

“You didn't know?” 

“How should I have known?” Bilbo thought while looking at Fili's beard, but he didn't say that because it would have been terribly rude. 

“Dwarf maids are much like our men. We are stout in form and blessed with fine, soft beards,” Fili said while stroking his— _her!_ — own, and indeed it was a very nice beard if one liked that sort of thing, which Bilbo supposed dwarves did. “But there are far less of us, so we are treated as rare gems to be hoarded, kept safe in our mountain homes. When we travel we forgo our fine jewelry and wear trousers to disguise ourselves.” 

“My sister is considered a great beauty. 'The star sapphire in the crown of Durin' they call her!” 

Now that Bilbo was looking he could see the evidence. Fili had shed her travel cloak and with less layers obscuring the view Bilbo saw the curve of her hips, though they were less bountiful than those on a hobbit lass. She was rather handsome with her golden hair and dimpled smile, though not what Bilbo would call beautiful. 

A horrible thought occurred to Bilbo. “Are there any more woman in your company?” Unable to remember every dwarf's name he'd taken to addressing whichever one he spoke to as “Master dwarf” all evening, but what if one had actually been “Mistress Dwarf?” Worse, and horror washed over him, what if they were _all_ women? 

“Just one,” said Kili, and Bilbo let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, but his relief was short lived. “Auntie Thorin.” 

Thinking of the haughty dwarf lord, Bilbo suddenly remembered a small detail from Thorin's tale of the Mountain. At the time he had been certain that he had misheard, but with all the talk of dragons and gold Bilbo had plum forgotten that Thorin had called his child self an adventurous _lass_. 

“Oh dear.” 

While Fili and Kili bickered over rooms and beds, Bilbo made a hasty retreat towards his own room, but found himself standing awkwardly in front of his best guest room's door. With a resigned sigh, he decided now was as good a time as any to clear the air, and knocked. 

“Ms. Oakenshield?” 

When she opened the door she was dressed for bed and Bilbo was stunned to see that her heavy travel clothes had been hiding wonderfully wide hips and a generous bosom. Even with the beard she was painfully, obviously female and he felt even worse for his earlier mistake. 

“May I come in?” 

“It's your home.” She stepped to the side to let him pass. 

“Ms. Oakenshield—“ he started, but was interrupted. 

“It's just Thorin. Dwarves do not have last names, Mr. Baggins. We have patronymics and clan names. Oakenshield is a epitaph earned in battle, but you may call me Ms. Thorin. Or Your Majesty, if you wish to be formal.” 

“Right, your grandfather was the king, so that makes you a princess. But your father is gone, too. Are you a queen? Or can you not be crowned without a kingdom? I don't have a head for politics, though if I'd known I'd been having royalty as company I would have prepared a proper dinner!” 

“Technically I am King under the Mountain. It's an inherited title since all previous rulers have been male.” 

To Bilbo that sounded a bit daft, but what did he know about such matters except what he'd read in books? He cursed his Baggins' propriety that put him in this situation. 

“Ms. Thorin, I wanted to apologize to you for earlier in the evening,” said Bilbo, wringing his hands uncomfortably. “Given your clothing,” and beard, though he didn't say that either, “I was under the mistaken impression that you were male.” 

She waved the apology away. “'Tis no bother. I have grown accustomed to the ignorant eyes of elves and Men. In truth, even among dwarves I am no beauty,” she said blithely, crossing her arms over her ample chest, and Bilbo could only gape at her. Dwarves were even stranger than the stories said, he thought, if buxom Thorin was less appealing than boyish Fili. 

But Thorin mistook his reason for staring and scowled. “If that will be all, Mr. Baggins, then I will see you in the morning.” 

Bilbo scurried through the door before she could slam it in his face. He went to his own bed tired and not altogether happy. One thing he did make his mind up about was not to bother to get up very early to cook everybody else' wretched breakfast, just his own and Thorin's, who he owed another apology for his apology. He wondered if it wouldn't be better stay home and avoid her altogether if every conversation between them was only going to cause more offense. The Tookishness was wearing off, and now he was not quite so sure that he was going on any journey in the morning. 

As he lay in his bed he could hear her still humming to herself in the best bedroom next to him:

 

_Far over the misty mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away, ere break of day_

_To find our long-forgotten gold._

 

Bilbo went to sleep with that in his ears, and it gave him very uncomfortable dreams. It was long after the break of day when he woke up to a dwarf yelling about breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, lady Thorin and lady Fili look very similar to their movie counterparts. Fili has the same facial hair as her male version, but with a softer face, wider hips, and small breasts. Thorin's beard isn't as full and her jawline is softer, but she's stuck with a nose that can cut butter. Like Fili her hips are wider, but she's cursed with unfortunately large tits that she hides under four layers of clothing and armor. In our headcanon dwarves tend to be densely muscled with little body fat, so Thorin is a little too busty and too tall to be considered conventionally attractive, while Fili is the epitome of dwarven feminine beauty. Bilbo is understandably confused because he has the typical hobbitish appreciation for “huge tracks of land,” whereas dwarves only seem to appreciate a big pair of boulders if they're made out of rock.


	2. Fried Eggs

Up jumped Bilbo, and putting on his dressing-gown he went into the dining-room. There were the dwarves crowded around his dinner table waiting for their breakfast, though they did not expect Bilbo to make it if the smells coming from the kitchen were any indication. Dori and Ori had already fried up several plates piled high with bacon, sausage, and eggs. 

“Come give us a hand, Mr. Baggins.” 

A little put out to be ordered around in his own kitchen, Bilbo politely helped carry the food out to the table. The dwarves fell upon it like wolves on a sheep, with about as much manners. Assuming there would be none left for him, he went back to the kitchen to make himself pancakes. He made far more than he wanted, not out of consideration of the dwarves, but to ensure he got enough if they began devouring his breakfast too. That's what he told himself at least, but he found himself piling the extras on a second plate and setting it before Thorin, who had just polished off her six fried eggs. 

“I didn't order this.” 

This time Bilbo didn't apologize, or even speak because if he opened his mouth he was liable to say something far ruder in response. He smiled and set down the jar of syrup a little harder than necessary before sitting down to eat his own breakfast. He most resolutely did not watch to see if she liked them, but if he glanced her way that was no one's business but his own. 

As it happened Thorin did like them and was feeling much more kindly towards the hobbit this morning. “Do you need assistance packing? Our journey will be long and it would not do to be ill-prepared. Speak up if you need anything, we'll be purchasing the last of our supplies in Bywater.” 

Bilbo shook his head. Back in his tweens he'd been a Bounder and had walked the length and breadth of the Shire, though he had never ventured beyond the downs. In his study he still kept a birch-wood chest that held his old equipment and tools from those days. Excusing himself from the dwarven fracas, he made his way to it to sort out what he might need. From its confines he pulled an old but well oiled jerkin, certainly not enough to stop an arrow, but protection enough for the wilds; a brown hat with a rim to keep out the rain from his eyes; a waterskin, which he checked for holes or cracks; flint steel and tinder; a traveling pack of sturdy canvas along with its attached bedroll; and lastly a small traveling cookery kit for he was, after all, a hobbit. Then he turned to the mantle over the study fireplace and carefully removed his mother's prized hunting implement and fastened it to his belt, frowning as he did so for it seemed the coat and belt didn't quite fit as well as they had in his youth, but they would have to do for he had no time to have new ones tanned now. 

Satisfied with his preparations he returned to the dining-room where the dwarves had finished their breakfasts and had moved off to pack their own supplies, leaving his kitchen in shambles for they had quite forgotten to clean up after themselves. Before Bilbo could begin the arduous task of cleaning up, a hand grasped his shoulder and he turned to find the amused face of Gandalf looking down at him. 

“My dear fellow, whatever _are_ you doing? We have no time for last minute housework! We must all make for the Green Dragon Inn if we are to have the ponies ready to travel by eleven.” 

Till the end of his days, Bilbo could not say how he found himself thrust out his door in his jerkin and hat, paraded down Bagshot Row amid a troop of dwarves and a wizard. They must have made a grand spectacle for now and again Bilbo would see his neighbors peering through windows and over hedgerows, watching them pass. He was reasonably sure it looked like he had either gone quite mad or he was being kidnapped. They continued in this manner past the great Mill, across The Water, and all the way to Bywater. Stabled at the Green Dragon Inn was Gandalf's white horse and the ponies, even a very small one for Bilbo, which they loaded with all kinds of baggages, packages, parcels, and paraphernalia. Just as Gandalf had said, by eleven they had purchased the last of their supplies and were off. 

That's how they all came to start, jogging off from the inn one fine morning just before May, on laden ponies. The party went along very merrily, and they told stories or sang songs as they rode forward all day, except of course when they stopped for meals. These didn't come quite as often as Bilbo would have liked them, but still he began to feel that adventures were not so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The decision to make Bilbo a former Bounder, the borderwatch of the Shire, had two reasons. One, it helps us to play up the Took side of Bilbo's character with a more subtle and mature brush than simply repeating that he has a Tookishness to him every few chapters; second, it gives us a further point of interaction between him and Lady Thorin – here while he is not a warrior he is at least a trained woodsman (woodshobbit?) and Thorin will see at least some value in his journeying with them.


	3. Whirly-Jig

“ _There were bones on the floor and a nasty smell was in the air; but there was a good deal of food jumbled carelessly on shelves and on the ground, among an untidy litter of plunder, all sorts from brass buttons to pots full of gold coins standing in the corner. There were lots of clothes, too, hanging on the walls—too small for trolls, I am afraid they belonged to the victims—and among them were several swords of various makes, shapes, and sizes. Two caught their eyes particularly, because of their beautiful scabbards and jeweled hilts.”_

— _The Hobbit_ , Chapter 2. Roast Mutton

 

After claiming a sword for himself, Gandalf handed Bilbo a knife in a leather sheath. It would have made only a tiny pocket-knife for a troll, but it was as good as a short sword for the hobbit. He tried to hand it back. “No thank you, I have my mother's old Whirly-Jig.” 

“I insist. There may come a time when a sword would serve you better, and these look like good blades," the wizard said, half drawing one and looking at it curiously. "They were not made by any troll, not by any smith among men in these parts and days; but when we can read the runes on them, we shall know more about them.” 

“What's a whirly-wig?” asked Gloin who walked by carrying a pot of looted coins. 

“I've never heard of a whirl-o-rig,” said Dwalin who had a whole cask of ale over his shoulder. 

“It's 'Whirly-Jig' and of course you haven't! It's a _hobbit_ weapon. Very difficult to use.” 

“But what is it?” 

“Well, my good dwarf, it's a traditional hunting tool for felling the birds and other small game that one would find in and around the Shire. Now come along, we should not tarry in this vile place a moment longer than we must!” 

“Let's get out of the horrible smell!” said Fili. 

While the others carried out the rest of the coins and such food as was untouched and suitable to eat, Dwalin stared after the retreating wizard with a scowl. 

“But _what is it?_ ”


	4. A Long Talk

“ _His house was perfect,whether you liked food, or sleep, or work, or story-telling, or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all. Evil things did not come into that valley."_

 _— The Hobbit_ , Chapter 3. A Short Rest 

 

Of all the pastimes of Rivendell, Bilbo's favorite was sitting in the Hall of Fire. Named for the large hearth that dominated one wall of the chamber, it was a place as equally suited for merry gatherings as quiet contemplation. Bilbo had spent many evenings there listening to the stories of the elves or immersed in a book from the library, his second favorite place. 

Today Bilbo was neither sitting nor reading, but cooking. Like all hobbits he had a great love of food, both the making and eating of it, so with the elves permission he'd taken over a small corner in the kitchen to fix himself a proper Afternoon Tea. The kitchen was usually empty at this hour as elves did not keep the same eating habits as hobbits, but a few had stayed to help Bilbo reach things on the higher shelves and watch him putter about since they had never seen a halfling before. 

With a small troupe of elves eager to measure and prepare ingredients for him, Bilbo made a more elaborate spread than his usual afternoon fare. Cucumber sandwiches, poppy seed scones topped with lemon curd, a quick bread pudding, and a bowl of fresh strawberries all went onto a tray, though most of the scones he gave away to repay his elvish assistants. 

To his delight the kitchen was stocked with a selection of teas, many of which he had never heard of, so he picked one for it's pleasant aroma and hoped it tasted as good as it smelled (which it did). An elf maid helped him carry it all out onto one of Rivendell's many balconies, each with a view of the valley more fantastic than the last. Bilbo insisted she stay for a cup in the hope that he could question her about elves, only to find that she was just as curious about hobbits! After one cup and no more, she returned to her duties and Bilbo was left alone to enjoy the tranquility of the valley. 

“This must be the most beautiful place in the world,” said Bilbo with a sigh of contentment. 

Scarcely the words had passed his lips before a dwarf popped around the corner to disturb the peace. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Baggins!” It was Kili, the youngest. 

“What do you mean?” Bilbo asked with a sudden of spark mischief. “Do you wish me a good afternoon, or mean that it is a good afternoon whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this afternoon; or that it is an afternoon to be good on?” It was much more fun doing the confusing than being confused, Bilbo thought as Kili blinked stupidly. “Oh never mind! Come have tea with me.” 

“Don't mind if I do!” Kili joined him on the bench, the tea tray between them. He sipped his cup politely, if a bit noisily, but was very impressed by Uncle Hildigrim's scone recipe, as anyone ought to be. 

“You're a great cook, Mr. Baggins. This is much better than anything back home,” said Kili around a mouthful of scone generously slathered in lemon curd. 

“Thank you Kili, but surely dinner at home is preferable to a few light snacks!” Tea was just to tide one over until Supper; it was not a proper, full meal. 

“Mam can cook, but she hates it. Fili and I would both rather do the hunting than the cooking, and the less said about Auntie Thorin's cooking the better.” 

“I see,” though Bilbo really didn't because while not all hobbits were gifted cooks, every household had at least one deft hand at the spatula that could be relied upon. On the other hand, dwarves had much smaller families and might not be as lucky as hobbits in that regard. The image of Thorin in his mother's apron, scowling at a flat soufflé came to mind. 

“Once we take back Erebor, Bombur will be head cook for the royal family, but I think we could find a place for you. How about official scone hobbit?” 

“I do think you made that job up.” 

“Clearly my ancestors were short sighted to not see the need for such a position. Scones will be vital to the future of Erebor, especially the hobbity ones. I'll have Auntie make you gold pans and silver cooling racks.” 

“Don't be ridiculous, what would I do with gold pans? You need cast iron for frying things.” 

“See, that's exactly why we need the expertise of an official scone hobbit!” 

“Kili, I'm sure Erebor is wonderful,” once it's free of dragons, he thought, “but I'll be going home to Bag End after my burglarizing business is done.” 

“You don't need to stay forever, just a while. Long enough for us stockpile all your baked goods,” said Kili as he cleared the tray of the last scone, leaving only crumbs. 

“That would be a horrible waste, none of it would keep. They'd be hard as rocks after a couple days.” 

“Luckily we dwarves eat rocks! It's how we grow so strong. At least that's what Fili told me when I was small, until Mam caught her feeding me pebbles. Then I got all her pudding for a week.” 

Not having any siblings, older or otherwise, Bilbo didn't know what to say to that. 

“Yours is better than how Mam makes it, but even if you don't bake anything for us you have to stay in Erebor as our guest.” 

The company would be arriving at the start of winter and it would be terrible getting back to the Shire until at least the spring thaw. Bilbo would be their guest whether he liked it or not, and he liked the idea of a dwarf cave far more than trudging through the snow. If Erebor was half as lovely as Rivendell it would be worth the trip. Bilbo found this adventuring business was growing on him. “Why not? It will be nice to have a real bed and proper mealtimes after all this adventuring wildness. It will be like a holiday. I'll even teach you how to bake.” 

“I'm no good at cooking, just the eating, but if you think you can teach me my family will be forever in your debt.” 

“No time like the present!” said Bilbo as he carried the dishes back to the kitchen. “It will be time for Supper soon enough. You can help me cook something suitable for the dwarven palette.” 

The resulting meal, while not crafted to a hobbit's standards, was filling enough, and over the few days there all of them, the ponies as well, grew refreshed and strong. Their clothes were mended as well as their bruises, their tempers and their hopes. Their bags were filled with food and provisions light to carry but strong to bring them over the mountain passes. Their plans were improved with the best advice. So the time came to midsummer eve, and they were to go on again with the early sun on midsummer morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kili sees Bilbo as a potential male role model since he's grown up surrounded by women, though they were all arguably more masculine than Bilbo, who isn't a warrior and likes cooking, writing, and gardening.


	5. Good Company and Good Food

_“Long days after they had climbed out of the valley and left the Last Homely House miles behind, they were still going up and up and up. It was a hard path and and a dangerous path, a crooked way and a lonely and a long. Now they could look back over the lands they had left, laid out behind them far below. Far, far away in the West, where things were blue and faint, Bilbo knew there lay his own country of safe and comfortable things, and his little hobbit-hole. He shivered. It was getting bitter cold up here, and the wind came down among the rocks.”_

_— The Hobbit,_ Chapter 4. Over Hill and Under Hill

 

They set up camp in the shelter of a large outcropping of jagged rock which blocked the worse of the wind. Bilbo took it upon himself to gather wood for the fire, one of the only tasks the dwarves trusted him to manage besides the cooking. He had only a small bundle of sticks when he heard the tell tale coo of a grouse nearby.

“Grouse would be nice for the stew! Perhaps if I bring back a few I'll get a little appreciation,” said Bilbo, who had been feeling rather like the spare saucer that didn't mach his teacups gathering dust in his cabinet. He was out of sorts and out of place among the dwarves, who viewed him as little more than a tagalong burglar who had yet to burgle anything, and good for not much else. It rankled Bilbo and a brace of grouse might be just the thing to show them he could pull his own weight.

The Whirly-Jig made quick work of three grouse startled out of a tree and he walked back to camp with a bounce in his step.

Kili was the first to notice his return and he jumped up in excitement. “You brought food!” Then he gave Bilbo a side-eyed look. “You're not going to make me cook it, are you?”

“No, no, I'll leave that to Bombur, but you can pluck them if you like.” Which Kili did, having taken to Bilbo's offer to teach him how to cook with surprising zeal.

“Where did you get the grouse?” Bombur asked while Gloin and Oin got the cook fire going.

“I found a pack of them in a tree over there.”

“Did someone say grouse?” Bofur popped out from behind a tree with an armload of firewood. “Who has grouse?”

“Bilbo caught some grouse for the stew!” Kili said as proudly as if he had been the one to catch them.

The fire roared to life and Gloin wiped his sooty hands on his trousers. “How did the hobbit manage to catch a grouse?”

“Stop saying grouse!” yelled Thorin, who had been deep in discussion with Balin and Dwalin and was tired of being interrupted.

“ _The hobbit_ managed just fine, thank you.” Bilbo said crossly. “It's was easy enough with my Whirly-Jig.”

Dwalin perked up like a wolf scenting blood and proceeded to completely ignore Thorin, much to her displeasure. “He used the Whirly-Jig to—”

“Who cares how he got them?” Kili butted in. “I'm hungry and all we have left is that elvish cram.” They all agreed, even Bilbo who liked the elven waybread but was longing for a more varied diet. The plucked and gutted birds went into the bubbling stew pot to cook, but before they could so much as sink to the bottom Dwalin had snatched one out, headless of the boiling water.

Bombur smacked the back of his hand with his ladle. “Get your dirty paws out of our diner! Do you want the stew to taste like you?”

“I dunno, I think he looks tasty enough,” said Nori. Dori elbowed him sharply in the ribs, which with Dori's strength was less of a love tap and more of a finishing move.

“Its spine is broken,” Dwalin muttered, turning it over in his hand.

Bombur snatched it back. “Course it is! It's dead!” He smacked it hard on the edge of the pot a few times. “See? Now that's what I call a dead grouse.” Then he tossed it back in before it could suffer any more abuse.

In short order the stew was done and bowls passed around. The grouse was well received and Bilbo took the praise with only a little smugness given how they had doubted his hunting abilities earlier. By a hobbit's standard's the stew was a bit thin and bland, but Bilbo ate with relish. He missed his pantries and spices back home, but here there were friendly voices instead of the empty halls of Bag End. As a bachelor Bilbo had grown used to taking his meals alone, though it went against the nature of hobbits, who are social creatures. Good company makes for good food, as they always said, and while Bofur may not be as well mannered or Thorin as friendly as a hobbit, dinner tasted better with others to share it with.

As they ate the sun slipped past the horizon and the companionable mood of dinner faded with the light. The mountain air grew cold as ice and the company retired to their bedrolls while their bellies were still warmed from the stew. The night was comfortless and chill, and they did not dare to sing or talk to loud, for the echoes were uncanny and the silence seemed to dislike being broken—except by the noise of water and the wail of wind and the crack of stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for how late this is other than I am a lazy and irresponsible person who got very, very distracted by the new Captain America movie (which DaemosBlack still hasn't seen so I can't rant at him about my Winter Soldier feels).
> 
> Neither of us intended to ship Dwalin/Nori, but Nori is sassy and his dialogue got away from me. While writing character headcanon we decided Nori would be the hot dwarf your mother warned you about and an outrageous flirt, but flamingly gay. Not sure if that will end up being a background pairing or not.


	6. Pan Fried Mushroom

“ _Soon they had a ring of smoke and flame all round the dwarves, a ring which thy kept from spreading outwards; but it closed slowly in, til the running fire was licking the fuel piled under the trees. Smoke was in Bilbo's eyes, he could feel the heat of the flames; and through the reek he could see the goblins dancing round and round in a circle like people round a midsummer bonfire. Outside the ring of dancing warriors with spears and axes stood the wolves at a respectful distance, watching and waiting.”_

 _— The Hobbit_ , Chapter 6. Out of the Frying-Pan Into the Fire

 

Atop the biggest rode a large goblin, his hulking form cast in shadows by the flickering fire, but Bilbo heard the dwarves cry out in recognition.

“Azog!”

“It cannot be!”

In fact it was not, for Azog was slain at Moria by Dain Ironfoot, and this was the creature's son Bolg. He was just as gruesome to behold, however, grey skinned and scarred with a nasty metal plate fused to his head, though whether it was decoration or primitive surgery for some past head wound I could not say. To the dwarves, whose eyes were not so keen and whose vision was obscured by smoke, he must have appeared as his foul father come back to haunt them.

Suddenly Thorin leapt down from her tree and rushed past the startled wolves below, Orcist drawn and glowing bright. Balin, Dwalin, Bifur, and Bofur were quick to follow, but Wargs could not be taken unawares a second time and met them in battle before they could reach their leader, the goblins hounding the rest still stuck in the trees. Thorin had eyes only for her target, and Bolg looked upon her countenance and recognized a dwarf of the line of Durin, the same blood that killed his father. He urged his wolf forward and the two enemies met with a roar.

Down below jeering goblins fed the roaring bonfire until the flames licked at Bilbo's heels. He scrambled higher, past Nori and Ori who were throwing flaming pinecones into the eyes of goblins, until he found a thick branch, though what good a studier perch would do when the whole tree eventually caught fire he didn't know. Nevertheless he clung tightly like some unusually large tree fungus, perhaps a hen of the woods or an aspen oyster, both quite tasty when pan fried or roasted.

“Now's a fine time to be thinking about roasting!” Bilbo chided himself, feeling nausea roll in gut at the possibility that he soon might make a meaty morsel for some wolf. Purposefully avoiding looking at whatever fate awaited him below, he turned his attention to the clearing where Thorin faced Bolg.

Thorin may have been a mighty warrior, but exhaustion had taken its toll on her. Given The Company's ordeal in crossing the mountains she had gone many days without rest and was running on fumes (though in those days the phrase referred to the last puff of smoke eked out of a pinch of pipe weed and it is only in recent history that the meaning changed). Bilbo watched in horror as Bolg's mace smashed into her side, sending her rolling across the dirt.

At first Bilbo feared her dead, but at last she crawled to her feet, swaying dangerously. She raised her sword, but atop his Warg mount the pale orc was too fast. Again his mace swung into Thorin, knocking her to the ground. The Warg seized Thorin in its great maw, piercing her armor with its fangs. If she screamed Bilbo could not hear it over the yells of the other dwarves, who were still cut off from their leader and could only watch as she dangled from the jaws of death. Then Thorin slashed at the wolf's throat and it responded by throwing her like a rag across the clearing, and this time when she landed she was still.

Later Bilbo would conclude that the days without food or sleep spent surviving stone giants, and goblins, and Gollum, had slowed his wits because it was only in that late hour that Bilbo suddenly realized he was not as helpless as he felt. Strapped to his back was his mother's Whirly-Jig.

Gandalf has not lied when he called it a traditional hobbit weapon, though it had been many generations since any hobbit had used one as such. Mostly it was for hunting birds, knocking them out of the air in midflight. Belladonna's, on the other hand, was a heavier design and weighty enough to kill much bigger animals like boars or wolves. As a Bounder Bilbo had trained for such an occasion, though never had the chance to utilize his skills on anything larger than a badger.

He pulled the Whirly-Jig from its harness, aimed through the pine boughs, and threw. It curved through the air, turning end over end, before colliding with the horrid steel plate imbedded in Bolg's skull with an audible “clank!” The Orc fell like a stone, stunned.

Just at that moment came a bright flash like lightening from Gandalf's staff and the Lord of Eagles swept dow from above, seized him in his talons, and was gone.

There was a howl of anger and surprise from the goblins. Loud cried the Lord of the Eagles, to whom Gandalf had now spoken. Back swept the great birds that were with him, and they came like huge black shadows. The wolves yammered and gnashed their teeth; the goblins yelled and stamped with rage, and flung their heavy spears in the air in vain. Over them swooped the eagles; the dark rush of their bearing wins smote them to the floor or drove them far away; their talons tore at goblin faces. Other birds flew to the tree tops and seized the dwarves, who were scrambling up now as far as ever they dared go. The last swooped low to grasp Thorin and carried her off into the night sky.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta da! The Whirly-Jig is a boomerang. Didn't expect that, did ya?
> 
> This chapter took a long time to finish because it was where the movies really started to diverge from the books and we needed to decide which direction we were taking. Originally I wanted to follow the book exactly, but DaemosBlack pointed out that the movies did a better job of setting the stage for the Battle of the Five Armies, which came out of nowhere at the last minute in the book. Plus, we needed Thorin to do something bravely stupid so Bilbo could save her and finally use the Whirly-Jig. Ultimately we decided to leave Azog dead and substituted Bolg as the antagonist.


End file.
